The Torn Picture
by Cravatasaurus
Summary: It all started so simple. There was no reason for suspicion. An innocent picture - that's all it took. After that, it was unstoppable. Fate was inevitable; and anything Phoenix did couldn't slow it down. A restless soul seeking vengence. A photograph torn into six pieces. And each one gets closer and closer to Phoenix's breaking point. Character death! May be M later on.
1. Prologue

_**AN:**__** This is my first fan-fiction!**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not, sadly, own Phoenix Wright or Ace Attorney affiliations. They are dolls in the toy-chest of Capcom; I only take them out to play.**_

_**Warnings: Blood, violent implications, character death, mild language issues…**_

_**Yep, I've got it all!**_

_**No pairings. Maybe Phoenix/Maya if you squint really really hard, but that's pretty intense searching.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**The Torn Picture**_

He watched gloomily out of the window of the office. Former office. He worked no longer; his glory days... were all but over.

It was quiet - far too quiet. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, longing for a distraction of any kind. It was days like these when he'd step outside in the grayness of speechless solitude, to stroll silently down the sidewalk, staring blankly and distantly at the vacated building that once housed a hamburger joint. His heart would tug painfully with longing at seeing the rundown brick of the place he once visited so often.

He could almost hear a disembodiment of her sweet voice calling his name when such strong memories surfaced again; a calling of one simplistic word: "_Nick!_"

He closed his eyes in agony at mere thought of her. Maya. Dear Maya. _His Maya._

It was days like these when he craved her presence the most. He had Trucy, but most of the time she was either at school or with Apollo.

He loved Trucy... but Maya... had been different.

He'd loved it most when she'd gently take his hand, underneath the defense's bench where no one could see, to offer encouragement. When she'd drag him across the street, every day, to celebrate with burgers and food. When she fretted over him. When she talked nonstop about ridiculous new training methods to test out. When she socialized with _everyone _because she could. When she'd help steer his turnabout.

And then she'd been taken from him. Forever. As far as he knew... she was dead.

She'd taken Pearls with her when she left - his adorable little Pearls.

Phoenix Wright sighed deeply and dejectedly, sinking lower into the slightly-tattered upholstered chair. What he wouldn't give to see her now - Maya.

He kept their pictures - everyone's - hidden behind those of himself and Trucy together. He'd taken out those hidden pictures, on occasion, to stare into the lost eyes of his best friends. Right in the middle, next to him, would be her - Maya. Not once had he ever told Trucy about those in his past. She didn't even know about the Magatama, nor the Shelley de Killer card Maya had drawn on when she was kidnapped. It was hidden securely in the back of the frame behind another, less inconspicuous photograph. He wouldn't even have the card, if it hadn't been for _that prosecutor..._

...his best friend...


	2. Chapter 1

_**AN:**__** Sorry for the horrendously short chapter before; I didn't want to include the prologue in 'Chapter One.'**_

_**Again, this story contains character death later on. It's key to the plot – so if you don't like, don't read.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Ace Attorney, but if I had enough money then I would.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

Phoenix, depressed, hung his head in his hands. _How could he let such a simple, __fatal__ flaw happen? How could he have been so __stupid?_

He'd known – well, suspected, anyway – about Prosecutor Gavin. Gavin and his whole plan, all along. And yet... and yet he, Phoenix Wright, fell for the trap, handed to him personally by that little girl – Trucy, was it? Not that she knew what it had been, what its purpose served for the trial turnabout. A totally falsified turnabout.

End result? Nothing but a famous lawyer's fall from the heights: he had been disbarred. What would _she _think of him now? As a failure?

He sighed deeply and sorrowfully, feeling at his collar for the nonexistent badge. His fingers itched when he touched where it ought to be, like an amputated limb.

Wriggling in his crudely upholstered chair for a more comfortable position, he gazed blindly around the late _Wright and Co. Law Offices. _After a few moments' contemplation, he pulled out his phone and dialed the all-too-familiar number. Regretfully he found it going to voicemail; did she know already?

Beep! "Maya, it's Nick. We need to talk." There; short and simple. He hoped it wouldn't alarm her too badly.

He felt his thoughts beginning to wander. _What would Mia think..?_

_What would __he__ think?_

Phoenix inferred that it wouldn't be long until the prosecutors found out. Most would be relieved, he fancied, that he could no longer antagonize them (_Winston Payne_).

But one maroon-clad prosecutor, he knew, - or rather, hoped - would be, for the most part, disappointed in the following lack of excitement in court. Not to mention that a rookie succeeded where the veteran couldn't, but Phoenix liked to believe he was above such trivial matters as perfection now.

Phoenix sighed. Yes, he expected a visit from his best friend soon - Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. To be followed quite uncomfortably closely by the sting of Franziska von Karma's whip and the loud, bold declaration of him being a failure at law.

* * *

"Wright."

Phoenix jumped half out of his skin, and whirled at the cold, self-assured voice. "Oh." He was disappointed; it was not the voice he had been anxiously awaiting to hear. It was the wrong kind of cold. "Hello, Kristoph." Phoenix's own demeanor, in stark contrast to that of the starched lawyer in front of him, was quite deflated. "What... are you doing here?"

"No need to look so depressed, Wright." Kristoph smirked, and Phoenix felt it rub him the wrong way. The other man looked him up and down, duly noting his unkempt state and dark rings around his eyes. Even his trademark raven-black spikes drooped sadly. "Don't you terrify your... charge… with looking so ragged all the time? Give her nightmares?"

Phoenix bristled, but years of cross-examining stubborn, insensitive witnesses and fighting snobbish prosecutors gave him enough self-control to simply turn his head away, muttering with forced lightheartedness, "That went a little far, Kristoph."

"Hmph." The defense attorney didn't apologize.

Phoenix tried again. "What do you want, Kristoph?" he asked tiredly.

Kristoph Gavin cocked his head to the right, feigning thoughtfulness. "Who ever said I wanted anything? Perhaps I only wanted to visit. Why must it continuously seem like I have an ulterior motive?"

"Because you _always _have an ulterior motive, Kristoph."

"Touché, Wright."

_What are you getting at, Gavin? _"So... what did you come for?"

The former smirked lopsidedly, and decided to beat around the bush. He sat, demurely, in one of the office easy chairs, and crossed his legs. He was silent for a while, taunting Phoenix, who continued to sit patiently, one eyebrow raised. Looking over at the side table, Kristoph finally sucked in a breath while glaring at a large picture in its wooden frame. "Who are these people?" He hesitantly lifted the frame to show Phoenix the photograph that Lotta took one day, showing Larry Butz, Franziska von Karma, Miles Edgeworth, Phoenix, Maya, Pearls, and Detective Gumshoe from the left side of the frame to the right, respectively. All wore large, silly grins - except the two prosecutors, of course, but even Edgeworth wore a soft smile. Phoenix swallowed thickly - he hadn't seen any of them in so long. A month, at least. Perhaps two. He didn't know.

"My friends," he murmured simply, with no desire to pursue the topic.

"Really now?" The defense attorney seemed genuinely interested in the miniature, photographic faces peering from the glass frame cover. After staring at it for a while, as if trying to memorize it, Kristoph set the wooden frame back down. Phoenix watched, intrigued with curiosity, as the other man fussed with the latch at the back of the frame for a little bit. As his suspicions grew, Kristoph finally quit, and turned it around to face the easy chair, away from Phoenix's line of sight.

"Well," Kristoph sighed cheerily, "I do believe I will be going now."

To be perfectly honest to himself, Phoenix was confused, but gingerly relieved. He knew that Kristoph Gavin came with a purpose; what it was still nimbly evaded him. And so, almost clueless, he led the blue-clad defense attorney to the egress. Kristoph, pushing his glasses quite forcefully up the bridge of his nose, took long strides with pride over the threshold of Phoenix's office, one hand in his pocket.

Phoenix made sure to slam the door loud enough for the other man to hear. Once it was thoroughly sealed, he rested his back against the smooth maple, eyes shut tight, and sighed.

When he opened them again, he looked over to his treasured photograph that Kristoph had positively manhandled.

All he saw was an empty frame. The picture was gone.

* * *

It was only a day later when he found a new visitor in his office.

It was that little girl, Zak Gramarye's daughter - the one who reminded him so much of Pearls.

It was strange, attempting to speak to her. She seemed much too cheerful to have just lost her father. She was adamant that he had just 'gone.' As if she was expecting him to return from hiding any time soon.

Phoenix still had no idea, by the end of that day, what had seized him to take her in as his own. Perhaps it was pity, perhaps it was intrigue... but the most likely reason, he realized, was that he was trying to have little Trucy fill in for the role of Pearl Fey. One that he missed far too much for his own good, as she was gone most of the time now, training in Kurain with Maya.

And so, Phoenix Wright earned himself an adoptive daughter.

_**Review, please!**_

_**I will give you a cookie!**_


	3. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Phoenix Wright or Ace Attorney...**_

"NIIIIIIICK!" Maya Fey shrieked as she launched herself into Phoenix's arms. She beamed up at him from her position in his embrace, face shining joyfully. Phoenix's heart physically swelled at the sight of her, and the hole that had fabricated itself in his being filled up with a fulfilling sense of completeness.

At this point, he was literally grinning ear-to-ear as he held her tighter, all implications of despair at losing his badge fleeing abruptly to the very corner of his mind. "_Maya..._" he breathed into her hair. "Do you know how much I missed you this past 6 months?"

"I've got a good idea," she told him shortly, and pecked him fondly on the cheek, her smile returning full force.

Phoenix said nothing; not that he had to, or even could, for it was at that moment they both heard a shrill squeal of "_Awww!_" from behind them.

Maya released Phoenix from her vise-like grip to whirl and face the newcomer. Pearl Fey stood in the doorway, hands clasped and eyes misty with pure adoration. She started to bounce up and down. "Mr. Nick! Mr. Nick!"

Phoenix laughed and knelt to hug her as well. "Hey, Pearls! How are you?"

She grinned enthusiastically. "Better, now that you and Mystic Maya are reunited!"

"Pearly..." Maya started hesitantly, but Pearl wasn't quite finished.

"Mystic Maya couldn't stop talking about seeing you again, Mr. Nick!" Pearl's cheeks were becoming flushed in her excitement.

A faint hue of scarlet was slowly creeping up Maya's neck and face. "Pearly, honestly." She sighed in exasperation and turned back to Phoenix.

He watched her, waiting for her to speak, as he noticed - though he knew he oughtn't - that she was growing more and more into a truly feminine form, and looking much closer to her sister; except, of course, the spirit medium robes that she wore unfailingly.

"Hey, Nick?" She was looking at him concernedly. "Are you alright? You don't look too great."

"Hmm...? Oh," He snapped out of his reverie. It was true: he hadn't been sleeping well, and maintained the dark rings beneath his eyes. "Yes, I'm fine." Unconsciously, he rubbed his collar again, where his badge should be. His fingers still itched for the smooth, rounded bronze.

Maya sat in her usual chair and regarded him with curious brown eyes. "I smell a lie," she murmured, tilting her head to the side. This action was so Mia-like, it almost scared him.

Phoenix, thoroughly ashamed, hung his head in his hands, curling his digits through his spiky, black hair.

Suddenly, Maya gasped. "Nick! Where's your... your badge?"

He couldn't meet her steady gaze. "I..."

But he was saved for a few seconds by the racket in the kitchen, created by Pearl as she searched for something to eat. Maya was temporarily distracted by the temptation of joining Pearl in the hunt for food, but turned back to squarely face her best friend, determined to hear him through.

"I... lost it. My badge."

Maya almost laughed, misunderstanding. "_Lost it_? Like, down the drain?"

"No, Maya... It was lost to the court and my own stupidity."

She was painfully silent for a while. "So they took it. Why, Nick? You didn't do anything... did you?"

Phoenix sighed, feeling the pressure of her gaze as her eyes filled with the silent plea for him to assure her that he had done nothing wrong. His own eyes were downcast, and lost their luster.

"...Yes, Maya. I did do something wrong. Unintentionally, granted... but it was still wrong."

"What...?" The purple-clad girl in front of him wore an open expression of betrayal. "What did you do... Nick? What could be so bad?"

Phoenix recognized her words as a second chance for him to redeem himself in her eyes. "I presented falsified evidence to the court. At the time, I had no idea... Not that they would've listened," he added bitterly. "It was my job to secure the evidence, after all..."

"_WHAT?_" Maya leapt from her seat, upsetting the lamp in the process, knocking it to the floor. Neither one of them bothered to pick it up. Maya's fists were balled up angrily. "Nick, that's so unfair! You should have gotten a fair trial on that!"

Phoenix shrugged. "I was still being too stupid to realize-"

Suddenly, he was attacked and wrapped into the tight embrace of one extremely forgiving spirit medium. "Shut up, Nick..." she muttered, pressing her face to the blue suit he still wore from force of habit. "It's not your fault! You did nothing bad... And here I was expecting you to tell me you actually intentionally committed some kind of evil..." She looked up at him. "Plus, you're good enough to be able to take the bar exam again, anyway."

Phoenix was thrown by her total 180 mood swing. But it was working wonders on his ego... and she did support a valid point.

"Tell me you'll take the exam again, Nick..."

He ran a palm down the smooth, black length of her hair. "Okay," he whispered. "I'll take it again."

She clapped her hands together. "That's my Nick!" As she licked her lips thoughtfully, a pitiful gurgle echoed through the room. "Whoops. Nick, looks like-"

"I'm taking you out for burgers. Yeah, yeah," he teased lightly, and she punched at his midsection.

But before she could call Pearl out from the small kitchen, Phoenix snaked his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his body and kissed the top of her head in the big-brotherly fashion. "It's good to have you back, Maya."

* * *

It was fairly easy, to have Maya and Pearls with him. They chose to sleep in a hotel for their stay. Maya had been earning lots from increased spirit-calling demands (she was now richer than Phoenix... sad), and proposed the surprisingly sensible logic that they couldn't all stay in Phoenix's small apartment; it'd get overcrowded, with the addition of Trucy - whom Phoenix still deemed unfit to be around too many strange new people.

The two eager Kurain girls visited Phoenix during the day, when Trucy attended school; when the young 'magician' came home, she was none the wiser.

Gradually, the constant distraction during Phoenix's former 'alone time' allowed for the wound of his missing badge to slowly begin to heal - as well as his pride.

* * *

_Why hasn't Edgeworth gotten to me yet?_

One thought had been nagging at his mind all week. He wanted - craved - to talk to his (ex)coworker. His best friend. Sure, maybe Edgeworth didn't win the 'Best Bud of All Time' award, but he was Phoenix's nonetheless. Perhaps that was what almost 5 years of a trust connection did to people.

He paced, itching to pick up the phone on his desk and dial the High Prosecutor's office, but stopped himself every time. What if he was busy? What if I interrupt a meeting? What if he can't make time to sit idly by and chat?

Eventually, Phoenix decided he didn't care. He'd leave a message, if the prosecutor was busy. Taking a deep breath, he dialed the number from his cell phone.

He was secretly relieved when his call actually did go to voicemail. _"You've reached the desk of Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. I apologize for missing your call, and will return it as soon as I deem possible."_

Phoenix chuckled as the answering machine beeped loudly. "Um... yeah, hey, Edgeworth. It's Phoenix... Wright. Good to hear your answering machine again." He paused, unsure of what to say. _You hear yet? I lost my badge. Isn't it great? You're supposed to sympathize, so wanna meet for lunch? _"I just..." he continued. "I haven't heard from you in a while, and since I won't be coming to court anymore that'll probably end up becoming commonplace. So I was wondering if you wanted to catch up over a sub or something?" That sounded a bit awkward. _A sub, really? That's the best you can do? _Running a hand through his hair, he added, "Maya wouldn't be coming, so I guess you won't have to worry about her. Uh... I suppose you'll call me back, then? 'K, bye." He hung up decisively.

Phoenix hated ending phone calls. It was always too abrupt, too..._final. _Not that he'd ever been able to end a call with any kind of literary finesse.

"Hey Nick?" Maya asked from her position on the office couch (Both of them agreed that it was probably better to hang out at the office instead of his cramped apartment or the hotel), contentedly watching Steel Samurai reruns. "What wouldn't I be coming to?"

"Hmm? Oh," He motioned to the phone. "Just some lunch meeting I was trying to arrange with Edgeworth."

She gasped loudly. "Mr. Edgeworth? I wanna come! Please?"

Phoenix shrugged. "Ask Edgeworth."

Her face fell. "Does he... not like me?" She seemed intensely upset by that thought.

"No, it's just..."

"Oh, I see," Maya contemplated, then began to turn back to the flashing television screen. She seemed to find the current episode of 'The Steel Samurai' too distracting to much care anymore. "It's guy stuff." She didn't voice it, but she knew 'guy stuff' would end up being a comfort for Phoenix in light of losing his badge.

"...I suppose you could put it that way."

"You'll buy me a burger when you get back, right? Compensation, you know."

He sighed. "Yes, Maya."

Phoenix rose from the rolling desk chair to wander to the tattered tan sofa, where Maya sat up so that he could settle. She eventually ended up resting her head comfortably against his chest, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and the other on the side of the couch. After a while, they both drifted into light sleep.

**_AN: Thanks for reading! More action and better writing in the next one, I promise... I wrote this a while ago and didn't bother fixing it._**

**_Free cookies for reviews!_**


	4. Chapter 3

_sakana-chan63 - _I do believe that will be revealed at a later time... But thanks a lot for your review! *gives cookie of choice*

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Ace Attorney, yadda yadda yadda...**_

_**Right.**_

Miles paced back and forth without pause for several minutes, and if he stared hard enough, maybe he could just make out wear marks on the rough pavement. But he didn't waste valuable time staring at streets. He didn't even bother to speak, nor to pay attention to what the forensics team was doing at the moment, and quite frankly he didn't care. All that mattered was this... situation.

Being honest to himself, he knew he didn't even belong on scene; after all, this wasn't his case - if it counted as a case at all, yet. No suspects apprehended, and not enough evidence to go by. The only thing for certain was that this was a clear homicide.

But the good detective had called him in to the scene, as technically he was _allowed _there, pulling a few strings - and the victim was a person of interest to Miles. Much interest, to put it mildly.

Outwardly, the prosecutor showed only cool composure, as if not related to the victim at all. Inwardly... inwardly, he was devastated. The edges of..._something_... crumbled within him, his mind numb and his chest hollow. It wasn't possible, he told himself firmly. It's just another immature prank to be pulled. And yet, as soon as he would convince himself of that, he'd pause shortly to glance at the body currently being scanned by CSI and forensics and remind himself that nope, that man was most definitely dead as a doornail.

"Mr. Edgeworth, sir!"

He spun on his heel, glaring all round, not even caring who the recipient was. "What is it now?" he hissed.

Detective Gumshoe cringed under the force of the other man's eyes. "The lab guys have identified the victim, sir!"

"Damn right they have," Miles muttered undetectably under his breath, then asked sharply, "And?"

"Just as we expected-"

"-knew-"

"-It's one Laurence Butz, age 26... Caucasian male. Tecchies are pretty positive he died from blood loss from a stab wound the lower dorsal area."

It was as he had told them. He had known instantly, just by glancing in the victim's direction, who it was, but hearing it from an official - even Gumshoe - made it seem 1000 times worse.

Unconsciously, Miles bit his lower lip, and turned his head away - away from all the blood, wetly crimson against the sidewalk; away from the violent manslaughter, so fresh that the body was still warm; and most of all turned against that body's..._identity. _In a desperate attempt to calm his thoughts, he tried to remind himself of all the faults owned by that man; things that Miles sure wouldn't miss. Larry was an imbecile. Larry failed at every one of his jobs. Larry was eccentric. Larry-

_Was nonetheless a friend._

"Are you okay, Mr. Edgeworth, sir?" Gumshoe asked with concern behind him.

"O-of course I'm okay! What do you take me for, a child?" he suddenly snapped irritably, his automatic defensive system kicking into gear for times - such as now - when his central control began to shut down in shock.

"No sir, that's not what I..." After a moment of awkward silence, the detective backed off.

Miles sighed dejectedly, and forced himself to look back at the scene. The forensics team was nearly finished, and there was no point in aimlessly wandering and mourning when he could be of use.

First, however, was the light tapping of his fingers as he quickly dialed a number on his red Blackberry. Wright would need to know.

* * *

Phoenix's office phone rang an hour and a half after he had called Edgeworth. The ringtones woke both him and Maya from their TV-front naps. Groggily, Phoenix answered. "Phoenix Wright speaking."

"Wright, get down here, now." The voice was urgent.

"Woah, woah, woah. Edgeworth?" he asked.

"Who else? ...I need you down at the scene. Now. Don't bring Maya with you."

"Edgeworth... what happened? What's wrong?" Phoenix became worried.

"It... it's..." The man on the other line sighed. "It's Larry." After taking a breath, Edgeworth told him the location.

"I know that street." Phoenix stood quickly, dislodging Maya from his entire right side. She huffed. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Too long."

"Ten." Without farther ado, he hung up, leaving the former in disconnection. He grabbed his coat. "I'll be right back."

"Nick, where are you going?" Maya asked curiously.

"I have to meet Edgeworth. It's something about Larry." Upon meeting her gaze, he added quickly, "Edgeworth specifically told me not to bring you, Maya. Otherwise I'd take you."

"Well, he better get the memo, because I'm 20 years old now. I can legally do whatever I want."

Phoenix shrugged, then waved his hand in a short reply and exited to go and retrieve his bicycle without waiting, leaving Maya to watch him furiously.

* * *

He pedaled as fast as he could go, and eventually his legs became numb. It didn't matter; if Edgeworth admitted he needed him somewhere, then it was urgent. A crime scene, if Phoenix had heard correctly. And if it's about Larry, that must mean he'd gone and gotten himself accused again.

Without realizing it, he knocked a couple of people off of the sidewalks and bike paths in his hurry to reach the scene fast enough, and was cursed at many times. His ears didn't register; he concentrated only on his direction and the reason why Edgeworth would want him on a crime scene when Larry could wait to see Phoenix the next day in detention – despite the fact that Phoenix could not possibly defend him.

* * *

Eight minutes. It took him eight minutes to arrive on scene. When he noticed police and squad cars milling about, as well as a certain parked red Cadillac, he dropped his bike onto the pavement and stumbled several meters to where he saw the prosecutor waiting with crossed arms and a thoughtful expression. Phoenix's legs throbbed, and he rubbed his calves to assuage the ache.

"Edgeworth," he panted. "What is it? ...Where's Larry?"

The other man said not a word, his eyes pained, and nodded solemnly in the direction of the exact crime, behind the former defense attorney.

Phoenix turned to look just as the coroner began to place a limp corpse into a large, black, zippered bag to prepare it for processing and autopsy. He noticed a flash of familiar strawberry-blond hair.

"No..." he felt himself murmur in disbelief. His heart rate slowed to even sluggishness. "It can't be..." He whipped back to face Edgeworth, whose expression was downcast despite his collected manner. "You're lying."

"Wright, as much as I wish I was lying, I assure you... that I am not." Edgeworth's despair seemed very genuine.

As much as he wanted to disbelieve it, there wasn't any escaping the truth. Larry was gone. Lamenting over what had already passed was no use. For a few minutes, the two men gave a moment of silence for the deceased; he deserved that much. Edgeworth stared hard at his dark wingtip shoes, his hands in his pockets, while Phoenix hung his head in his hands, fingers once more digging through the spikes of his hair. After a long pause, he sighed deeply and dejectedly, still stunned into emotional numbness, and looked up at the prosecutor. He was surprised to find his own voice ask, "So what now? What kind of leads do we have?"

"...Zero to none. Very clean. Why?" Edgeworth seemed almost hesitant to answer.

"It doesn't matter that I'm not a lawyer anymore. If I can help, I will. For Larry."

The maroon-clad man huffed and scuffed his shoe against the hot pavement. "There aren't any suspects yet. There was no one at the scene when it was called in."

"Doesn't that make the caller a suspect?"

"We have no evidence other than that. It doesn't prove anything."

"And what might this witness' name be?"

"That's on restriction to the public, Wright. You should know that."

He frowned. "Can you at least give me a description?"

"Wright..."

"Fine. What did they find around... the body?"

Edgeworth sighed. "Look, Wright. I know you're attempting to do what you think is right, and you mean well, but you aren't allowed to investigate. You're a civilian, and you won't be getting a case." Patiently, he raised a hand to stop Phoenix's oncoming protest. "_However_... I'll see if I can give you a break, and you can help mepiece this thing together." He took a step back towards his car. "See me at my office tomorrow. I'll try to get you the details. But right now... you need to head home."

What..? "How... how could you just..._say _that? So _calmly?_ When it's Larry... Larry..."

The former turned back to him, but didn't meet his gaze. "Maya... needs to know." And ending on that note, the prosecutor ducked into his red convertible, and was gone.

Spirits heavy, Phoenix fell into a sitting position on the curb, and sighed.


	5. Chapter 4

_Atroquinine Deadly: _Oh, thank you so much! It's supposed to be sad(ish). There's a lot more where that came from, lol. Thanks for reviewing! Means a lot. *gives cookie of choice*

_Sakana-Chan63:_ Well, Miles _did _tell Phoenix to meet him at his office. He'll spill the beans for our protagonist later on. Next chapter, I think. Thanks a lot for reviewing! I take more pride in my Miles POV parts, 'cuz I think I'm more descriptive, so this one should be better! *gives another cookie from jar*

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Ace Attorney or its affiliates. I only wish I did. That is a lifetime of happiness right there.**_

_**Enjoy, please!**_

Miles buried his head in his hands, massaging his pounding temples with a thumb and forefinger. His tea was cold, it was past 10 o'clock, and he'd gotten almost nowhere. The detectives and investigative teams had found no possible murder weapons that matched the wound at the scene, had no suspects besides the 'witness' (Anyone who had a motive also had a solid alibi), and there were almost no clues. All that was found was a piece of a ripped photo depicting the victim himself, and nothing else besides what looked like the background of the court lobby. The picture had been found balled up in the victim's left hand. There were no fingerprints to find besides the victim's. To most, this piece of evidence was worthless.

Miles, though, had his theories. His first and foremost thought was assassination. The picture could have been the killer's 'calling card' of sorts. It would explain how clean the scene had been. And right now, it was Miles' best guess. All that was left was the most important piece of the puzzle: _Who _exactly would've hired a professional assassin, and _why_? And, personally, why would one feel the need to assassinate _Larry_?

With a groan, Miles lifted his head from his hands and began to gather the paperwork together, which consisted only of the autopsy report, the case file, the picture, and scene photographs. It could all wait until tomorrow, when he was well-rested and could actually think clearly.

The hall was deserted, and the fluorescent bulbs that hung in the ceiling light fixtures were dimmed, low enough that Miles' eyes were forced to widen. Black briefcase in hand, he carefully made his way down the carpeted steps that led to the lobby and freedom. Only a few steps before the sliding double doors, however, he caught wind of a familiar voice.

"Mr. Edgeworth, sir!" Gumshoe called out behind him.

The prosecutor swore under his breath and whirled to face the detective. "What do you want?" he asked impatiently. He was glaring, and quite dangerously, without even realizing it until the former flinched back fearfully. Sighing, Miles closed his eyes and let his face relax from the hard lines of stress. Gentler, he repeated, "What is it, Detective?"

The incompetent burl of a man in front of him shifted his foot, staring bashfully at his own poorly-crafted size-14 boots. "We... we got an update on the case, like you asked us to, sir..."

"As much as I honestly appreciate it, Detective Gumshoe, can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"See, sir, that's just the thing..." He nervously rubbed the edge of his filthy green coat between a thumb and forefinger - _did it possibly get any dirtier since the last time Miles saw him? _- and still refused to meet the prosecutor's eyes. "See, the tecchies are still processing it now, so technically it's supposed to wait 'til tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you before you left: ...The weapon's been identified, pal. Sir."

Miles quieted his internal fidgeting - _Miles Edgeworth does not __do__ physical fidgeting _- and stared the coated man down. "Are you quite positive?" he asked incredulously.

"Sure as a fiddle!" He seemed proud of himself for creating a simile.

_...Detective, I do believe it's 'sure as can be'... 'Fiddle' is something entirely different..._Choosing to gracefully overlook Gumshoe's previous statement, he inquired slowly, "And? What was it?"

"A switchblade of some sort. Jagged edges, the like. Found it on the street half a mile away. Spent all night trying to find it." The detective puffed out his chest proudly until his face fell. "Can't give it to you 'til tomorrow, though, pal. Sorry."

He would never admit it aloud, but Miles admired the man's undying loyalty, as well as - excepting the fact that it took some time to get him on the right track - his hard-working attitude. Reminding himself of such, Miles put on a small smile. "That's just as well. Good work." As he began to turn away, he added, "Now, go _home_, detective, and get some sleep. We have a lot ahead of us come tomorrow."

"But-"

"That's an order, detective." Miles was, by now, halfway out the doors to the parking lot, wearing a partial smirk. "Have a good night."

* * *

By the time Phoenix returned to the office that day, it was past 7 o'clock. Maya was still lounging on the couch, her legs dangling off of the armrests as she oscillated between dreary wakefulness and shallow sleep.

The shades were open, solely because Maya was too lazy to close them. The windows were now practically purposeless, as they filtered in nothing but the gloomy shadows from the darkening overcast skies.

She cracked her eyes open at the sound of the door unlocking, and actually attempted to struggle into a sitting position when she heard the shuffle of tired feet upon the floor. Lifting her heavy head, she searched around the office. Her eyes squinted against the hard, sudden flashes of light emanating from the muted television.

She jumped, startled, when Phoenix appeared, seemingly in the blink of an eye, to crouch close to the floor next to her.

"Nick..."

"Maya," he started, frighteningly serious. "I have...something incredibly important to say." He faced her squarely. "I will not beat around the bush to spare any feelings. I will be frank with you. Larry..." He drew in an agonizing breath. "Larry... is dead. He was murdered."

The sharp intake that stretched her lungs could only be described as a gasp. "Huh..?" Her bones hummed. "H-he... He what?" She had heard Phoenix perfectly clearly, as he had spoken plain English, and yet clarification was left wanting.

Her vision became blurry without warning; but then, so had the news - abrupt and unwanted. As she looked down at her violet-clad lap, she saw - fuzzily - her own hand beginning to clench unconsciously. A tear unlatched itself from her eye, and Phoenix held her close to him as she began to weep softly. His own fingers were white-knuckled as he gripped her arms.

Larry was -_had been_, Maya reminded herself - a friend. No matter how many girls he tried to date, no matter what idiotic idea came next - he would be sorely missed.

She mentally shook herself, and steadily her flow of salty tears dried. She was a Fey - Hell, she was the Master of Kurain - and therefore must stay strong. She could not -_would not_- cry.

Suddenly she felt her body being rocked back and forth in a gentle swaying motion. She had been unaware that she had blanked out with her head in the clouds for several minutes now. "Nick..." she heard herself whisper, with an oddly cracked voice, "...I'm sorry..." She knew that Phoenix had been closer to the deceased than she had. She pulled away to study her friend's expression, which was downcast and depressed, his eyes almost glazed.

He looked up to meet her gaze when he felt the pressure of her observations, and tried to smile weakly. "He wouldn't want us to be upset," he murmured, more to reassure himself than anything else. Slowly, stiffly, he rose from his crouching position, causing the young spirit medium to need to look up to see him, and she noticed a small, dark, damp patch on his shoulder where her tears had fallen.

"B-but… But how? Why?" she couldn't stop herself from asking, despite how desperately cliché it was.

Her spiky-haired friend shook his head, and indication that he'd rather not say right yet; he needed more time. Quietly, solemnly, he said, "I... have to go... Trucy needs me..." He watched her closely as she rose also, as if calculating her response. "Will you be alright... getting home by yourself?" He referred to the small hotel room she stayed at, not far from the office.

She gave a tiny nod to console him of this fact, though her eyes were still filled with desolate sadness as they searched the room to land on anything but Phoenix.

He pulled Maya into one last embrace, holding her against his chest as he gave a tight squeeze, before turning away painfully and leaving the office in silent darkness behind him. The girl was left to stare after him, long after his lanky figure had retreated through the door. Falling back upon the couch, she twisted around to stare blankly and blindly at the television that still flashed and blinked merrily, as though there was not a care in the world. Angrily, Maya violently punched the _off_ button, though even after the annoyance was reduced to nothing but a black, lifeless screen, she continued to stare in its general direction as her thoughts wandered to topics she could no longer recall only a few seconds later.

_But isn't that the way with everything in life? _Maya asked herself sadly. _To grow and prosper, only to disappear through mists with no way of returning?_

* * *

He fingered the thick, waxy paper, feeling the fingerprinted smoothness of the photograph between his thumb and index. A small smirk was plastered upon his mouth, where it had stayed for about an hour now. It grew as he observed the next person at the end of the picture.

Some said he was mad. He'd heard their whispers, their rumors. It didn't matter; it would all be over soon. They'll see. And they'll regret it, too, while he was procuring his inevitably glorious rise for the future.

Maybe he _was_ insane. If he was, he didn't care. He would have a method to his madness. A tiny chuckle began to rumble throatily from the pit of his stomach, and then grew as he stared even harder at the flat – yet so _vital_ – object that he held in his left hand. In his right, there rested a miniscule glass bottle, corked and sealed with wax. It was so old fashioned of him, but it didn't matter what the container looked like. What mattered was the five tablespoons of fine white powder inside that he had readied for just one person. Five, incredibly lethal tablespoons of strychnine that he was using mostly for show.

His chuckles, as terrifying as they were, quieted now, but his self-assured smirk remained. With a cock of his head, he continued to stare at the torn photograph. Perhaps he _was_ mad.

* * *

_**OOOOH, more of the 'missing photograph' mystery is explained!**_

_**The next chapter reveils a lot more, trust me, but the plot is still weighed heavily with the stench of despair.**_

_**hee... hee... hee...**_

_**Cookies for reviews!**_


	6. Chapter 5

_Sakana-Chan63:__ Thanks a lot! I was hoping he sounded kind of creepy and *whisper whisper* we're calling him mad... pfftt... behind his back! And no, it doensn't much sound like Kristoph, does it? I suppose we'll just have to wait and see, then... Thanks for reviewing!_

**_Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, Capcom, I don't own your characters or settings. The plot and creepiness is all mine, though. Heeee..._**

Even after so long, he still wore his old blue suit out of sheer habit. It was a habit he couldn't shake, and he wasn't even sure it was one he wanted to shake. The material was a familiar, friendly texture upon his skin, and he felt that if his olfactory senses were just a little better, he'd be able to smell the scents of success and relief and just sheer dumb luck that came with it.

After checking his watch again, Phoenix decided to enter the building. For once, he had come extra early, and was sure that Edgeworth couldn't possibly be expecting him until after 8 o'clock in the morning.

Luckily, the lobbyist recognized him instantly, but since he was no longer a lawyer to have anything to investigate, he had to wait while she checked with the secretary to check with Edgeworth that Phoenix actually _was_ being expected.

When the raven-haired man (_Phoenix had felt the need to freshen up for his 'business meeting,' so he'd again reinforced his natural spikes into those sharper, cleaner ones that he'd always worn to court; only the small, gold badge – which most people didn't bother noticing anyway – had gone missing from this visage_) knocked on the High Prosecutor's door, he was met with a weary-sounding '_come in_' from within the office.

Tentatively, Phoenix turned the brass knob and allowed himself into the room that he dared call _lavish. _Perhaps even _uptight_ or _posh. _Not that he'd tell the prosecutor that.

Burgundy drapes, hemmed with gold edging, hung from the large windows and were tied back by gold-thread rope. A similar – almost matching – sofa was placed meticulously at the very center of the left wall. Books and files filled the shelves.

In the center was a desk, sitting at which was a very worn-out Edgeworth. His grey eyes were dull as he looked up at the newcomer, but they brightened considerably when he recognized his friend. "Hello, Wright."

"Working overly hard as usual, Edgeworth?" Phoenix seated himself in the plush, wine-colored seat opposite of the busy man.

The former set aside what he had been currently poring over and brought out a file that lay beneath it. "Simply fulfilling my duties," he replied swiftly. He faced the ex-defense attorney squarely, pleasantry replaced by determined certainty. "Wright, I must remind you… Anything we discuss in this room will not be spoken of anywhere else. Everything regarding this case is completely confidential. Technically, I'm not even supposed to be speaking to you. Understood?"

"Wouldn't dream of thinking otherwise." He held his chin thoughtfully. "Though, I thought there were no leads on this case?"

"With both of our minds together, we'll certainly uncover something… And whatever it is will need to stay _unspoken _until granted permission. I'll hand to authorities what I can."

Phoenix was given a brief startle at Edgeworth's implication of a complement, but he decided that it could wait until later. "Aren't _you _the authority?"

"In the prosecution. It's not like I run the police force, too." He looked away. "But that's irrelevant." He leaned forward on the desk, placing his crossed arms closer to where Phoenix was. His hard eyes bore into the other man. "You wanted to know about the witness. The witness' name… is Kristoph Gavin; occupation—"

"Defense attorney," Phoenix completed for him, in his own revelation, then met Edgeworth's gaze.

"You know him?" the prosecutor asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

Phoenix sighed. "Yes, I do."

Edgeworth blinked, and then his eyes strayed to his companion's plain lapel. "Oh, yes, I seem to recall now." His voice was a tad softer than it was before. "During your… trial." The last word was spoken with bitterness.

The former defense attorney gave a defeated, tired smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You know, Edgeworth, I was shocked that you didn't come to demand the truth from me the instant they kicked me out of that courtroom. Even maybe a little offended." The ending sentence was meant as a joke, of course, but nonetheless the maroon-clad man's demeanor darkened.

"That's because… I knew you were not to be blamed for that. I know you. You wouldn't abandon our pact for truth… for just one case of many. And I didn't want to force upon you questions that you might have been struggling to answer yourself, still. I would get my answers when you were ready to give them." He averted his gaze to stare at the wall of shelves behind the blue-suited man.

For a while, Phoenix was speechless. "T-truly?" he finally managed.

"I know you aren't a bad person, Wright. You know that."

Without warning, Phoenix felt a rush of affection for his childhood friend. He hadn't known that the prosecutor had cared at all, really. Sure, he could be a bit of a jerk sometimes… but he'd gotten better at it. The man across from him was, he realized, his best friend for a reason.

"Besides," Edgeworth continued, "I figured that by now, Miss Fey would have convinced you to try for the bar exam again." The slightest hint of amusement glinted in his eyes, a smirk gracing his lips, and for a blissful few minutes, both of them put the depressing case to the side as Phoenix laughed.

"She _forced _me. You know how she is."

"Yes…" But Edgeworth's smirk, as comforting as it had been, had disappeared as he had caught sight of the case files again. A small crease formed between his brows.

Phoenix sobered quickly. "Edgeworth," he started, changing the subject. "Can you tell me more about the… witness?"

The prosecutor sighed. "Allegedly, Mr. Gavin found the crime scene just as the police did. La— the victim was face-down on the pavement with a four-and-a-half-inch deep stab wound to his lower dorsal area. He described it as 'blood blossoming grotesquely from the back region.' He reportedly called it in only a couple minutes after passing by."

"Was there honestly no one else there to see a body in the road?"

"Not according to the witness. It's a small street, and there was no one else on scene when we arrived. Just him."

"I didn't see him there."

"He was being interrogated farther away. Not to mention that you were not focused on him at the time. You were searching for… Larry and myself."

Phoenix thought. There really wasn't much else to ask about Kristoph Gavin. "It was in the middle of the street," he pointed out. "He was stabbed from behind, so we can assume it was when he was unawares… thus he fell face down, without evidence of any struggle. Did anyone think that it was possibly a… street gang, or something of the sort? Perhaps Larry saw something he wasn't supposed to."

"Possibly," Edgeworth gave him, "though, there is something else. A stab like that… would not have killed him instantly. He would have had to bleed to death, and that is no fast process. Somehow, I have a feeling that even a dunce like him would not have simply lain on his face the entire time like a good little corpse. And I sincerely doubt that any gang would have cared whether he was flipped over when he was found or not; they would have fled the scene. Meaning that someone tampered with the crime scene…"

"Only, we don't have any proof of that. But, hypothetically, if Kristoph was truly the only one on scene, wouldn't that put him in a suspicious position?"

"Yes…" He paused. "But you're right. It's only hypothetical." He reached over to a small stack of evidence bags and pulled a single one out from beneath the others. In it was only a sheet of thick, waxy paper. Photo paper, Phoenix noted. The prosecutor handed him the bag.

That's when Phoenix turned it over. A tiny gasp escaped his lips after staring at it for several moments; there was Larry, in perfect aspect, grinning cheekily at the camera. It was obviously torn from a larger photo, so that it only depicted Larry. The background… was part of the courtroom lobby.

"E-Edgeworth, this picture..!"

"Recognize it?" The prosecutor leaned back slightly. "I thought you would."

"But… I know we all got copies, but I think… this is _my _copy…"

"How do you figure?"

"Kristoph… visited me recently." Here, Edgeworth elegantly raised an eyebrow. "When he was there, so was this picture. In the frame. He fussed around with it for a while, asking who the other people were… When he left, so did my photo."

Edgeworth laid a finger to his chin in thought. "I had thought it was some sort of killer's calling card, perhaps."

"It still could be," the former attorney said. The determined glimmer that only the courthouse could give him returned to his eyes. "Has this been checked for fingerprints?"

"Yes, just yesterday, as well as the murder weapon, which I just received this morning. Not a thing touched it but Larry."

Phoenix huffed. "Not enough evidence…"

"Of course not, Wright. And for all we know, Mr. Gavin could have stuck the photograph in the victim's hand after the murder occurred. There is nothing to point to him in almost any way."

The blue-clad man sighed. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see, then."

* * *

It was hours later into the day when Phoenix began to wrap up his 'conference' with the High Prosecutor. As he stood decisively from the burgundy loveseat to stretch, he caught sight of Edgeworth staring into his now-cold tea. "Edgeworth..?"

The other man blinked, and looked up to meet his fellow's gaze. Clearing his throat, he commented, "Did you know that Miss Skye was due to return to America in a few days' time?" It was clear from his tone that he did not expect a straight answer.

Phoenix started. "Skye? As in Ema Skye?" He hadn't heard from the science nut since her last summer break.

"Indeed."

"I was under the impression that she was not returning for another year."

"Apparently, she skipped a year of college."

"Ah. That explains it." A small smile crept its way to his lips. "It will be good to see her again. She'll light up the rooms easily enough for us to forget about all of this soon enough."

"It would be nice, granted that she doesn't choose to ramble in that way of hers about boron or some such new elemental fad." The scowl he chose to wear to hide amusement while uttering this was so believable that anyone but Phoenix would have been fooled. Instead, it made the ex-attorney laugh aloud, and the up-tight prosecutor let the façade fall into a rare pleased smile.

"So I'm assuming you're going to be the one welcoming her home?" Phoenix asked him.

"Unless you are planning on biking to the airport and back at ten o'clock at night, yes, I suppose I will be," he replied smartly.

The blue-suited companion gave a dry chuckle. "Too many mosquitoes for that." He checked his watch. "Trucy should be coming home soon, so I'd better get going. What's today, Thursday?" He began to head for the door as the prosecutor stood to see his friend out. "Thanks, Edgeworth. I… appreciate it."

The maroon-clad man shook his head, knowing that Phoenix was not talking about his leading him to the office door. "It was my pleasure, Wright. Really. Say hello to Maya for me, won't you?"

"Right. Of course. She'll be glad to hear from you. Make sure to give Ema my regards whenever you pick her up."

* * *

_**Aww... Edgey, you're such a softy... And that's why we love you (among other things.)**_

_**Please review! Next chapter won't be out for a while, I don't think, but since summer is starting I'm hoping to get it out within a week.**_

_**By the way, if you guys could check out my new one-shot, 'Victim: As Reminisced by a Simple Detective,' I'd really appreciate it. It'll be an eventual Klema, I think.**_


	7. Chapter 6

_**I do not own Ace Attorney, its amazing characters, IFly, the airlines, or Cadillac. I do, however, own the plot, because it was free.**_

_**And guys, I'm so sorry, I just reread my previous chapters and realized how out-of-character Kristoph was when he talked to Phoenix. I'll make him more in-character next time we see him (soon).**_

_**Atroquinine-Deadly**__**- **Thanks! There should be way more action in the next couple of chapters, though. Teehee =D thanks for reviewing!_

**_FeytedintheTARDIS__- _**_Yes, Ema will definitely be in this story! She's actually a key piece of the main plot, especially towards the end. And, thanks so much! YES THANK YOU I NEED LUCK VERY BADLY. X_X_

_**Sakana-Chan63**__**- **Hmm... interesting sort of thing I've twisted. To be totally honest, I confused myself a little bit. That's not a complement to myself, heheh. And that one piece, 'Victim,' is actually a part of a much bigger story that I'm working on, but it will not be out for a while, so I figured it was safe to post as a one-shot for now. I'll remove it once the full story is up._

**_Enjoy, and thanks for reading! But quiet please; it's snacktime._**

"Daddy!"

Phoenix looked up quickly from his cup of coffee to see his adopted daughter burst through the front door of his small apartment. He blinked for a second, realizing that he hadn't even heard the click of her key in the lock, but soon enough broke into a large smile. Rising from the couch, he knelt to catch her small form. "Trucy!" Lifting her up, he spun the little girl around easily, earning in turn a few burbles of laughter from her. "How are you?"

"Good!" She bounced up and down happily. "School was fun today! The teacher let me show off Mr. Hat to the class – " She continued to ramble on about some new kid in class and what her friends said and describing what she had learned in science that day, as she followed Phoenix into the kitchen as he poured her a cup of milk. Her light pink cape fluttered behind her as she walked, proudly displaying the hearts and diamonds stitched into the edges. As she sat down on the couch, still talking, the former attorney was content to simply watch her, glowing with the broad smile upon her rosy cheeks. The information spilling from her sweet lips floated through one ear and out the other as he 'listened.'

Then she paused, tearing him from his reverie. She studied him. "So how was _your_ day, Daddy?"

He blinked. "M-my day? It was… eventful… I mean, I had a good day, too, Trucy, thank you for asking. I got to see Edgeworth this afternoon –"

She stopped him, testing out the new name on her tongue. "Ed-ji-worth..? Who's that?"

For a while, Phoenix was simply shocked into unresponsiveness. 'Ed-ji-worth.' Just like how Pearl pronounced it. Exactly the same. His vision blurred, and all of a sudden, young Pearls was sitting in front of him, not his daughter.

"…Daddy?"

He stood quickly, shaking off all pretenses of his hallucination. Pearls was at Kurain. She was training to become an even more powerful medium. She had been gone for months now. "Mr. Edgeworth…" he explained slowly, "is one of my best friends. I'll take you to meet him sometime. I'm sure… you'll get along."

She seemed pleased by this answer, and if she noticed his tenseness, she said nothing about it; which Phoenix thought to be more likely. He had learned a while ago not to underestimate her ability of reading people accurately.

* * *

Miles tapped his steering wheel animatedly as he slowed to a stop at the red light, finger movements corresponding perfectly in time with the soft classical music drifting delicately from the radio. He quickly glanced at the digital clock that glowed green on the dashboard: 9:45. Beside him lay the small stack of paperwork that he had printed up, describing the directions from the office to the airport, and what terminal Ema would be landing in at 10 o'clock.

He didn't show it, but Miles was glad for the young scientist's return to Los Angeles. He knew that Lana missed her younger sister, especially since being released from jail only a few months ago. Ema's spritely, optimistic attitude would help lighten everybody's dark moods, and Miles felt that he could use the contagious joyfulness that could only radiate from a young companion. After all, Kay had left for a while to visit Borginia and Zheng Fa as 'academic studies,' and Maya, last he had heard, was busy keeping Wright company. Franziska was in Germany, and was not due to return for several weeks.

Pulling forward from the intersection again, Miles turned carefully into the parking garage of the Los Angeles airport, and again when he reached the area sectioned off for _IFly Airlines._ Gravel and rubble under the tires of his red Cadillac sports car ground against the asphalt as he parked in a spot marked with a painted green stopper. _**[A/N: I don't even know if they color-code the stop-bars to each different airline area there, but I know they do at my own friendly local airport. Whether it was green or not for IFly was left simply my imagination.] **_He checked the clock again. 9:51.

Opening the door, his long legs stretched outwards as he exited his car after turning off the ignition. Tossing his keys into his pants pocket, he stepped through the sliding glass ingress. There was already a small crowd of people waiting for this particular plane, but, scanning all of their faces, Miles found no one that he knew. It was just him that would be waiting for Ema, he supposed. He glanced as his watch after a few minutes of standing. 10:03.

A minor flood of people began emerging from the terminal gates, lugging behind them heavy suitcases and carry-on bags and briefcases, seeming in a rush to get home as they met with their loved ones. Miles' keen eyes raked over all of these strangers, searching intently for an idiosyncratic figure.

Finally, he spotted her. She was one of the last individuals in the steady stream of people, drifting away from the rest as she walked alone at a snail pace, looking for all the world as close to a zombie as one could theoretically get, singling her from the herd. Behind her was dragged a gigantic, horrid yellow suitcase as big as she was. Large, multicolored IFly symbols littered the mustard surface, displayed in such a way that made one want to cringe openly. As it was, Miles couldn't help wrinkling his nose in the slightest. He vaguely remembered gifting it to her, though he in no way expected her to keep it for so long.

Letting his eyes drift to her person, he found her quite the worse for wear. She still wore that old lab coat unfailingly, partnered by the rose-tinted glasses that were perched upon her head amidst a tangle of brown locks. Her eyes, however, were surrounded by large, dark rings that accentuated the half-closed lids. Her cheeks were hued with green, as if she had encountered some sort of sickening factor, and her feet seemed ready to fall off, the way she seemed to never be able to lift them off the floor.

Miles took a few steps in her direction, waiting for her to catch sight of him. And waited. She nearly bumped into him and still showed no signs of recognition. He frowned; he hadn't changed that much, had he? Clearing his throat as she almost walked past him, he greeted, "Welcome back, Miss Skye."

She blinked lazily. "Thanks…" Then she squinted up at him almost comically, and started, nearly tripping over herself in the process. "Hey… Hold on… M-Mr. Edgeworth?"

He gave a small breath of a laugh, amused. "Ah," he commented, "I'm glad to see that you've decided to return to Earth, as well." He took note, with some concern, of how blood-shot her green eyes were. "How are you feeling?"

Now that she recognized him, a wide, pleased grin began to stretch across Ema Skye's face. And, before he knew what was going on, Miles found himself in a tight, unbreakable embrace, Ema's small arms wrapped violently around his midsection. His muscles were frozen stiff, and he found himself unable to move for a while. Upon receiving stares from surrounding crowds, he tried to peel the girl off from his body. "Yes… okay…" he muttered awkwardly, and pushed her away as gently as he could manage.

Ema released the prosecutor quickly enough after that. A tiny flush had found its way to her cheeks, replacing the sickliness, as she placed her hands upon her waist. "I'm much better now, really," she said brightly, though her gaze was still heavy with exhaustion. Miles observed a hint of an English accent lingering in her voice.

His attention slipped again to the suitcase next to her. "Why _do _you still have that thing?" he asked, truly curious. "I thought you would have been rid of it by now."

Her brow furrowed defensively. "Of course not! You gave it to me, after all…"

He turned and started towards the exit, knowing she'd follow. "Is that your only reason for keeping it?" he pressed further, as he heard her grabbing said bag and tailing him closely after.

"Uh… well… it was a _gift, _you know; I couldn't just throw it out…"

The man stayed silent this time, deciding that he really didn't need to know the answer; perhaps she had needed a suitcase, after all.

"H-hey, Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Yes, Ema?" he inquired lightly, not bothering to turn and look at her as they neared the egress.

It took her a little while to continue. "Why _did _you come to see me, anyway?" She paused. "I mean, it's greatly appreciated, don't get me wrong, it's just… well, I thought you'd be busy, and… stuff."

He smirked a little bit. "Well, as you most likely know, Lana wasn't allowed to come and see you – not that she has a vehicle of her own, still, anyhow – and Detective Gumshoe was busy heading a case. I had not seen you in a while, and as I'm sure you'd prefer to see a familiar face welcoming your return that having to hail a taxi, I set aside my work for tonight to drive you home."

Her reply was hesitant. "…Thanks a lot, Mr. Edgeworth. You didn't have to do this… I hope you didn't feel you needed to set really important things aside just to pick me up from an airport."

"Nonsense." He took his keys out from his pants pocket, tossing them around in his hand. "What apartment complex are you staying at?"

She told him, meekly, then followed in silence for a while. Finally, as his car came into view, she spoke up. "Hey, what about Mr. Wright?"

Miles frowned, but Ema didn't see it. Instead, he forced himself to sound cheerful. "If you don't recall… Wright does not even own a driver's license, let alone a vehicle."

"Still?"

"Besides—" he checked his watch again, after pausing at the back of his car, barely making out the miniscule numbers and clock hands in the dark of the garage, "—at this time of night, he'd have to be putting Trucy to bed by now." Reaching to take Ema's suitcase from her, he unlocked the trunk and opened it broadly, easing the large bag into the car.

Ema was totally silent behind him. He turned to her, a question written on his face as to if she was alright, but found her standing straight and stiff. Her eyes were glued to the darkness of the trunk, and she seemed unable to move at all. A slight mist had gathered at the corners of her eyelashes. He knew that she wasn't seeing just the trunk any longer.

Miles swallowed, unsure of exactly how to comfort her. He moved to stand close beside her. "I had the trunk replaced," he whispered softly. _**[A/N: Can trunks even get replaced? Do they offer that at repair shops?] **_"Ema… this car has been clean for four years now." He stepped back again carefully, waiting for her to react to something.

After a few seconds, she blinked and looked up at him quickly, as if she sought reassurance. But just as suddenly as she glanced up did she turn back away, and she reached up to close the back door. "S-so…" she began again, pitifully, as she headed for shotgun, "W-who's this 'Trucy'?"

He turned to her in surprise as he seated himself on the leather of the Cadillac interior. "I hadn't told you yet?"

Slowly, Ema shook her head, looking bemused.

Miles inhaled, shifting gears so that it no longer rested in park, and murmured, "Trucy is Wright's daughter."

"_WHAT?_" Ema's surprise and sudden jerkiness was certainly justified, but that still did not prepare the prosecutor for the hand that was flung out in her ire and struck him in the chest, flattening his cravat and causing him to slam on his brakes from the suddenness of her action. She seemed to realize what she had just done, and shrunk back within herself. "O-oh! I'm… I'm so sorry, Mr. Edgeworth!"

Though his eyebrows were still raised in surprise, he shook it off inwardly. "Quite alright… Though, I do wish you'd give me some sort of warning first…"

He was mildly aware of her shameful silence, but then, the voice of a curious scientist like her was never silent for long. "But… Mr. Edgeworth…" she sat upright in her seat again in protest. "When? How? Who? _Why wasn't I told?_"

Outwardly, he sighed, but he was more amused than anything. His own reaction had been similar at first… minus the physical abuse. "If it makes you feel any better, Ema, Trucy was only adopted four months ago."

She fell back. "Oh…" Bringing a finger to her chin thoughtfully, she asked, "And… how old is she?"

Miles racked his memory. "I do believe she is eight years old."

"Hmm…" Ema seemed deep in thought, and then decisively began to scribble something on a notepad she had produced from one of her coat pockets. "I'll have to meet her!" she finally exclaimed aloud. Then, "H-hey, Mr. Edgeworth, what about… Maya?"

Startled, he glanced at her quickly. "What about her..?"

"Well… I mean, does she still visit? I heard she became… what was it… Mistress of her, ah, village, or something?"

"Master of Kurain," Miles corrected, almost the instant it had come out of Ema's mouth. "How do you know her?"

"I-I saw her when I visited Mr. Wright over breaks, remember?"

"Hum… I do recall something of the sort…"

"But… does she sort of act like a sister to Trucy now, or… more like a mother..?"

"I don't think they've met, as of yet."

"Huh." She sounded like she wanted to question that, but after a while, she let the subject drop as she moved to a new topic. "So, what about Mr. Wright? Is he busy now? You think I'd be able to go visit him tomorrow?"

Miles watched her out of the corner of his eye. "You really _have _been kept in the dark, haven't you, Ema?"

She blinked in surprise, face blank. "Wh-what do you mean? Did something happen to Mr. Wright?"

Thinking back to Wright's 'trial' and the corruption the judicial system left an acrid taste in his mouth. Bitterly, he commented, "Wright has all the time in the world, now. I'm sure you'd be able to visit at any hour if you wished it."

Ema sat quietly, taken aback by Miles' sharp tongue. "Mr. Edgeworth…" she whispered helplessly.

The prosecutor sighed, letting the furrow in his brow soften back out. "I apologize… His badge was taken, Ema. He no longer _has _work to do."

She was silent for a long time, as if trying to process all of this new information. "Uh… What?" She shook her head violently. "Did he retire early? How is he? Is he living alright? He _did _retire, right? Tell me he retired."

Miles held a hand to stop her, though he kept the other firmly on the steering wheel as his eyes never left the road. "No, Ema," he insisted, "listen to me. It was _taken._ He lost it, _permanently. _As a penalty."

"Penalty?" she echoed indecisively. "P-penalty for _what_? What could he have _done_?"

He allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. It pained him to think about it, though he wouldn't willingly reveal that fact. ""Apparently, he… he presented forged evidence."

Ema sucked in a breath. "I don't believe it. What kind of nonsense is that? Forged evidence, my ass!" She paused for only a millisecond for air. "Mr. Wright wouldn't do that! He doesn't need to. He's a genius!"

He felt it best not to interrupt her at this point. He concurred with most of what she had to say, anyhow.

"If he ever felt pressured enough that he'd have to use forged evidence, he would have done it at Lana's trial as a rookie, not on the first day of court with years of experience behind him! If- if any git could think –"

"Ema." They were nearing her apartment building now, and carefully he pulled into a lone parking space, moving the gear shift so that it didn't read 'drive.' Now free from having to concentrate on the roadway, he turned to meet the girl's gaze. "I couldn't do anything about it," he whispered in a moment of weakness. "I _know,_ Ema, that he's not to blame. But I have little more than theories or logic to prove it." Blinking, and slightly embarrassed, Miles looked away, and instead turned his attention to unbuckling his seatbelt.

As he was climbing from the car, he heard Ema ask, "Well, wasn't he given a fair trial?"

At the mention of this, the prosecutor's hand slipped, and ended up slamming the door shut instead of closing it gently. His tone was bitter when he spoke again, opening the trunk to retrieve Ema's suitcase. "If you call a simple meeting of defense attorneys a '_fair trial._'" He paused, taking a deep breath as he pulled the IFly suitcase from its storage. "The justice system in this country is slowly becoming corrupted, Ema," he warned her heavily.

Ema blinked again, then took her bag from him. "Thanks." Placing upon the asphalt ground, she rifled through the contents, obviously searching for something. Miles supposed it was for the keys to the apartment; he recalled her telling him, some time ago, that her sister had helped her buy it.

"So," she murmured softly, as if not wanting to aggravate him, "C-can you tell me about your logic and your theories?" She was just beginning to zip up her suitcase after finding the keys at the very bottom.

Miles was tempted, very tempted, and had just opened his mouth to speak, when he shut it again and shook his head. "Not today."

She whipped around to look at him. "But –"

His brow furrowed, determined not to tell her. Not yet, anyway.

Ema sighed, before her eyes lit up with a new thought occurred to her. "Wait… Mr. Edgeworth? Who was the prosecutor for that case?" Her eyes widened. "Not… you, was it?"

He smirked, and shook his head again, though this time a refusal would be a relief. "No, don't worry, it wasn't me. I would not have known about the forged evidence. Though…" he hesitated on his next words. "It was, in fact, one of the newer prosecutors I've been helping to train… His name is Klavier Gavin, have you heard of him?"

Slowly, she shook her head, before visibly clenching her jaw. "No, and by the look of things, I don't want to."

Somehow, Miles found this amusing, and gave a short laugh. "I must admit that I'm surprised. Apparently, he's also a bit of a 'rock-star.' Supposed to be very popular among the younger, female age group. Like you. The… Gavinners, if my memory serves correctly?"

Ema frowned as she started to walk towards the complex entrance, dragging the ugly yellow suitcase along behind her. "What kind of imbecile names his band after _himself_? That's the biggest display of unhealthy egoism I've ever heard of." She turned to him directly. "I hope I never have to meet him."

The burgundy prosecutor smirked broadly, earning a blush and a bite of the lip from the young science nut. She looked away, and instead silently climbed up the three flights of stairs to the floor where her apartment was situated, hefting the bag along forcefully. After the first flight, Miles had politely offered to carry the heavy bag for her, seeing how exhausted she was, but was vehemently refused after a slight flush of the cheeks. She had even protested against his following her to her apartment, but finally gave in after he bestowed a small bow and told her that he would see her through, and make sure she was alright.

Though, when he made to take his leave once Ema had unlocked her door and flicked on the dimming lights – _after all, Pess still needed to be fed_ – the girl stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Um… Please, stay, Mr. Edgeworth." From the lighting in the room, he could see even better how tired she really was, with her skin pale and darkness forming just above her cheekbones.

He shook his head gently. "I don't wish to intrude; you need your rest, Ema, after all, as displayed by the rings under your eyes…"

"Of-of course not! We're not done… catching up… yet…"

He gazed at her more sternly this time. "Ema. You're exhausted." As compensation, he offered a small smile. "We can talk tomorrow, if you visit the office. I'm sure the good detective would enjoy seeing you again."

She sighed, defeated, and gripped the strap of her satchel that hung by her side. "Yes, all right. Have… have a good night, Mr. Edgeworth."

His cravat swaying as he turned away, he gave a tiny wave in adieu, beginning the decent back down the three flights of stairs.

* * *

_**Aha, and Ema discovers the existance of everyone's favorite Fop-King.**_

_**Cookies for reviews! Sorry, I know this isn't my best chapter... it's more like a filler chappie. I'll try to write the next one faster this time!**_


	8. Chapter 7

**_Wow. You guys, this took me so long to put up. I'm so sorry. I wrote one short chapter for this in the time that it took me to write three chapters in 'Infatuation.' (if you're into Harry Potter, please read!)  
I'm sooooooo sorryyyy  
I've been so busy. I've had this really big book project that I need to complete this summer, but I finally put that aside to finish this. I knew I could; just, I didn't think it'd take this long._**

**_Thanks for your patience, loves! Thank you so much. I'll get the next chap. out way sooner._**

**_Oh, and thanks for all of your reviews, guys! I really do appreciate it. Thanks so much._**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Ace Attorney or anything affiliated. I wish I did; I'd have Miles all to myself and be able to make any OTP possible... hee hee hee..._**

**_Enjoy, guys, please! Sorry for the lateness and the shortness. I just wanted to get this part out of the way._**

**_Now go get disturbed._**

He was out of his mind. Delusional. He had to be. He blinked as he stared down at the cold, solid object held loosely in his right hand. The black, shiny coating mocked him as the thing sat in stark contrast to his smooth, pale, manicured hands. His long, thin fingers instinctively curled around the thick handle, index easily finding and resting on the trigger.

He couldn't possibly use this..?

A few locks of silky blond hair rebelled from their confines and fell forward into his face, covering his glasses, partially obscuring his vision. Impatiently, he pulled them back and tucked them behind his ear again, gaze never once leaving the weapon he held so calmly.

He felt his resolve wavering as he continued to stare blankly at the gun he held. Maybe… perhaps just one was enough to send a point across? Did he really feel he had to continue this barbarianism?

He glanced next to him, at the photograph – now torn – and his eyes narrowed angrily again, feeling conviction and renewed purpose flow through his veins icily, freezing his inner doubts. No. No, no, no. That idiot deserved the pain. They deserved to die.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could have felt all warmth flow swiftly out of his chest, leaving nothing but cold stoniness as the weapon weighed heavier in his hand.

* * *

She bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time, eager to see him again after so long. With her joy radiating off of her features, she barely felt the ache in her legs from the workout. She had decided to take this entire day to visit Mr. Wright. She'd go see the prosecutor later; tomorrow, perhaps? By the time she reached the third floor of apartments, her cheeks were flushed red and her stark white lab coat billowed around her thin legs. She was breathing deeply, chest heaving.

She had barely knocked on the farthest door to the right before it was flung open eagerly. Phoenix Wright stood before her, nearly towering over her petite form, looking almost exactly how she remember the lawyer – _well, former lawyer, now, _she thought sullenly. His raven-black spikes were still sharpened to perfection, his jaw clean-shaven. He looked quite comfortable in a casual white t-shirt and knee-length shorts, and a small, content smile rested on his lips. Eying her, he turned to rest his back on the doorframe. "Ema Skye," he noted slowly. "It's good to see you again, Ema."

Said science nut could feel that pesky grin begin to spread across her face again, and just like before, she leapt forward to tackle-hug him, though it seemed like Phoenix was expecting it. He accepted her small show of affection, gathering her up in an embrace.

She pulled away. "I missed you, Mr. Wright. I really did."

"We all missed you too, Miss Forensic Scientist."

Awkwardly, she scuffed her shoe against the rough concrete. "So… how have you been? I… I heard about what happened," she added when she saw the man frown.

"Yes… Shame, isn't it?"

"More like unfair. That wasn't right, what they did to you and your reputation. But… Mr. Wright… Mr. Edgeworth told me you had a daughter, now, too…"

The ex-attorney's demeanor brightened considerably at mention on this. "Yes. Trucy. Would you like to meet her?"

Ema smiled softly. "Yes, please."

His eyes twinkled a little bit, even mischievously. "She's at school right now… but I'm sure you'll meet sometime soon." He grinned at her bemused expression, making her brows furrow together. Then he coughed. "Would you like to walk? We can share our stories and all, because I'm really not sure my place is in the best conditions for… guests right now." He motioned with a wave of his hand to the stretch of road beyond the high-up rails that kept the apartments boxed in.

"Um… okay. Sure, Mr. Wright."

He chuckled at her pink-hued cheeks, slipping on a pair of black sport sandals that had been sitting by the door before stepping out to close it and lock up.

"Err… Mr. Wright? You're going walking in _that?_" the girl brought up skeptically.

"Well," he sighed happily, displaying his nonchalant attitude as the corners of his mouth twitched, "I don't see why not."

* * *

"Detective…" the maroon prosecutor groaned, massaging his temples. "You… You've been a big help to me today… Why don't you… just… take the rest of the day off?" He stared pointedly at the huge stack of paperwork inhabiting his desk and felt the stirrings of the tell-tale signs of his anxiousness and crankiness that he got almost daily. Absentmindedly , he continued stirring his Earl Grey tea, though it had long ago cooled to the point of chilliness (again).

Detective Gumshoe, however, still seemed plenty eager to help his lawyer friend. "But, sir," the larger, ragged man insisted, "that… that knife, I could run it back over to the labs for more testing if you want me to, or-or do a screening on the picture or go process the scene again –"

"Detective," Miles repeated warningly, glancing up at the scruffy person hovering over his desk in the midst of rereading the case-file.

The former sighed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, stepping away from the desk. "Y-yes, sir."

The prosecutor blinked before offering an unsteady, yet encouraging smile in face of the man's loyalty. "Take the day off, good man. Spend it comfortably." He swallowed. "Spend it with Maggey."

At the mention of his Lady Luckless, Gumshoe allowed a large, goofy grin to spread across his once-sad face. "Yes, sir!" he repeated, with more vigor. "Good idea! Thanks a lot, Mr. Edgeworth." He chuckled, his tanned cheeks flushing with pleasure.

Miles cleared his throat, unwilling to admit to himself the stirrings of jealousy he felt towards the happy-go-lucky detective, who _had_ someone willing to just sit down with him and let him unwind. Franziska was in Germany still (though due to return in a few weeks), Kay was off who-knows-where, and even Wright would cause Miles' blood pressure to do nothing but rise. Sighing, his eyes refocused as he was drawn back into the real world, snapping from his reverie. He found the detective still staring at him from the other side of his desk. Slightly unnerved, the prosecutor waved his hand dismissively towards the egress. "Yes, yes, Detective. You, er… may go now…"

"Oh, sure thing, Mr. Edgeworth! Why didn't you just say so?" Tipping a nonexistent hat, Gumshoe grinned, "Thanks, sir! Have a good day, sir!" before disappearing (less than elegantly) in a swish of his ratty green cloak, nearly knocking over Miles' china tea-cup in the process.

The maroon prosecutor slumped back in his chair, watching detachedly as the paper of the case file fluttered in the slight breeze of the cool air conditioning. Dear God. He really needed a nap.

* * *

Detective Gumshoe smiled to himself as he passed through the sliding doors of the Prosecutor's Building. He didn't think he was making his giddiness all too obvious, but various people all around him were bestowing odd looks. Oh, well. Didn't matter what they thought, right now.

His initial plan – and he fancied it was a rather good one, at that – was to meander his way across the street, where he knew there was a modest little convenience store, and purchase Maggey a bouquet of flowers (white tulips, to be exact), and then walk to her apartment. He'd take a short-cut through People Park.

Completing the first part of his mission, a pleased grin still plastered to his face, Gumshoe approached the cashier-man behind the counter. His name-tag read _Dave._ "Hello," the man greeted pleasantly, taking the bunch of flowers from the detective's hand so that he could scan the bar-code on the plastic wrapping.

"Hey, pal," Gumshoe greeted, as per usual.

"For a lady friend?" Mr. Dave asked, engaging the other man in conversation.

"Yeah, pal," Gumshoe answered with an easy laugh, flushing and scratching the back of his neck (as per usual).

The cashier asked a couple of questions regarding Maggey, and Gumshoe answered without much hesitation before taking the flowers after paying and taking his leave.

* * *

People Park, he found, was quite nice this time of year. It wasn't an awfully big recreational area, but what was there showed its stuff brilliantly. Cherry blossom trees colored the green backwash with bright bursts of fuchsia, streaked with white. The paths were littered with the blossoms that had fallen, near neatly trimmed bushes and carefully pruned hedges. There seemed to be no one else in the park at the moment, which was just fine for the detective. Maggey's apartment shouldn't be far, now.

As he walked, he grinned down at the special flowers in his hand, hoping that Maggey would appreciate them (and his company). The air was a bit heavy from earlier rains, droplets of water still glistening on blades of grass. Silently, he thanked Prosecutor Edgeworth for giving him this time off. He knew the prosecutor was under a lot of stress right now; surprisingly, he also knew that the victim had been an old friend of Mr. Edgeworth's, like Mr. Wright was.

Funny, how they couldn't find much evidence to piece together. Not enough, anyway.

He turned a perfectly innocent-looking corner, his thoughts now back on his beautiful Maggey. His day, though a bit rough at the start (the detective had only gotten 5 hours of sleep last night), was sure to get better now. It was already great, and he wasn't even there yet. Perhaps he'd make Maggey some of his famous, home-made wieners that she seemed to like so much.

A single shot rang out, breaking the silence that had so captivated Gumshoe. It seemed suspiciously close, almost directly behind him. He whirled, quickly, prepared to draw his pistol, all in a single moment (so all of those training exercises he'd practiced with Badd held some worth, after all) –

When suddenly, an explosion of unbearable pain passed through his frontal lobe, causing him to drop the flowers and his eyes to roll back into his head –

And then, just… darkness.

* * *

"So have you already gotten your test results back, Ema?" Phoenix strolled next to her on the sidewalk, his hands shoved into his pockets.

She shook her head, her own hands preoccupied with fiddling with the strap of her satchel. "No, but they told me – the school, anyhow – that they'd mail me my results. It should be coming soon; next few weeks, maybe."

"All the way from England?" he inquired. "Why didn't they just have you wait there instead of paying for the air fare?"

She looked up at him and gave a wan smile. "I wanted to come home," she replied. "I practically begged them to let me come home. I wanted to see Lana, and you, and Mr. Edgeworth, of course…"

The former attorney flashed her a wolfish grin, knowing that the young science nut still harbored a huge crush on the prosecutor. At least now that she was more mature, she seemed less inclined to stalkerish tendencies. "So do you think you did well? On your exam?" he asked, not wanting to push his luck by teasing her about Edgeworth.

The teen nodded vigorously. "Of course I did. I studied every night for weeks." She frowned, contemplating. "I just hope it meets requirements. I don't see how it couldn't, but then, they never really did specify for scientific investigators…" she trailed off, troubled.

Seeing this, Phoenix scoffed, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure you did _fine,_" he assured her. "How couldn't you? You're pretty brilliant, kid."

She blushed and stared at the concrete under her feet as she walked. "H-hey, Mr. Wright?"

"Yeah, Ema?" He turned to her, brushing a hand across his spiked hair.

"Mr. Edgeworth seemed a little… out of it, the other day. Why?"

Phoenix visibly swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing uncertainly. "W-well, see, Ema…" he coughed, unwilling to say. "He… see…" Sniffing, he rubbed his face with his large hands, trying to find the right words. "A couple of weeks ago… A good friend of ours… died. He-he was murdered." She gasped in horror. "You… you must remember Larry, right? If I remember correctly, he hit on you quite a few times when you came to visit." A wistful smile found its way to his lips, before disappearing quite suddenly. "S-so… Please, Ema… don't mention it to him. He's quite sore about it."

"I… oh…" A few moments passed in utmost silence. "I'm sorry," she murmured, unsure of anything else to say.

Phoenix simply nodded, and both continued their speechlessness as they walked side-by-side down the street, passing the People Park.

A gunshot, seemingly erupted from nowhere, blasted through the air behind them. Startled out of their wits, both of them whirled to face the direction simultaneously, eyes bulging out of their sockets. "W-was that a gun?" Ema whispered.

Swallowing again, harsher this time, Phoenix could only nod mutely, unable to speak. "It sounded like it came from the park," the girl continued fearfully, taking a step back.

"W-we should maybe check it out," the ex-attorney panted, and in a show of silent agreement, Ema wordlessly followed after Phoenix as he began sprinting to the entrance and bravely into the People Park. The paths twisted and wound around trees and shrubbery which, had it been any other circumstance, Ema would have stopped to admire.

She nearly ran into his back when he stopped suddenly, immobile from shock. Shaking her head while gasping for breath (she really wasn't as fit as Phoenix, considering he biked around town everywhere, daily). Glancing up at him, she found his eyes glazed over, and no breath at all circulated through his lungs. Following his gaze, her own green eyes slid downward, and she gasped again, loudly, and stumbled backwards a few steps.

It took a while to recognize what was in front of her. A dead body. _A dead body_. The eyes were rolled upward, showing only the whites and the threads of red veins that curled through it. A bunch of white flowers lay crushed on the ground, and small, neat hole in the very center of the forehead began to trickle fresh blood.

But there was no mistaking that coat.

Both of them could do nothing but stare blankly at the person – what _used _to be a person – that lay stiffly on the ground before them, marring the image of false serenity that was radiated off by the trees and their comforting shade of leaves.

* * *

_**Do you guys hate me yet? Heh...**_

_**I really enjoy writing Miles. It's so fun to mess around with all of the aspects of his complex personality and the snarky sarcasm that he possesses. I only wish I could've found a way to fit more of him into this chapter.**_

_**Ohhhh, Gumshoeee... I'm so sorryyyy...**_

_**I had tooo...**_

_**Please review! The more, the merrier (and the faster the chapters)!**_

_**See you next chapter~~  
Tara**_


	9. Chapter 8

**_Hey guys. So, I'm not dead. Hurrah! Actually I think it's been a lot less time than it feels like...  
So, tadah, another chapter! Not much happens, more a filler, but I really wanted to get something out there so that the next one wasn't super super long. That would take me absolutely forever. But it's filled with a nice amout of Miles angst, and that's always fun. Plus some Franzy action, which I'm sure is nice. I hope she's not too OOC..?_**

**_Gravity's bff-_****_ Wow! thank you so much! I love you! Wow. You watch Psych too?! *gives pinneapple shaped cookie of choice* I absolutely adore the Yin-Yang trilogy. Gives me the shivers. Especially the second one - and yet, I cry on that one almost every time. It's like, if I watch it enough, Mary won't die this time, you know?  
So anyways (I could go on forever about Psych, I really could), did you really think my characters are worth so much praise? I mean, not my characters, but you know what I mean... Thank you so much!_**

**_Atroquinine Deadly-_****_ I really have to thank you for keeping up with my crap for so long and reviewing just about every chapter. It means a lot, it really does. And you think Gummy's was bad..? Just keep reading... hee hee hee...  
No, but seriously, thank you! *cookie for you too!*_**

**_Usually I see Sakana-Chan-63 around these parts, but not this time... Oh, well. Thanks to you, too, Sakana, because you review every other chapter!_**

**_On with the show. Please review and leave any comments or criticism! Anything helps. Really._**

**_Enjoy this chapter!_**

The bushes, he decided, provided sufficient cover enough. Not that it really mattered; he was almost positive he could go crashing through the undergrowth right now and still be unable to stir their attentions from the 'distraction.' But that was alright; he'd already planted what he'd needed to plant, and the remnants were stashed in his pocket. Disposing of this bloody weapon – both figuratively and literally – would be simple enough. He was too thorough for that.

He was too perfect.

Looking down upon the still form of the detective, face and coat smudged with mud and dirt found of the path, he almost felt a pang of regret course through his veins. Almost. And then he looked upon Wright's silly, stunned, properly horrified expression, and the triumph reigned in his twisted, dark mind, sending such pleasant _shivers_ down his ordinarily stiff spine, and he decided that it was all worth it.

* * *

He hadn't even bothered making tea this time. He was far, _far _too stressed right now, and he knew that, parallel to the unfortunate fates of his past few heated beverages, it would only become chilled under the intensity of his gaze and the cool flow of the air conditioning.

He couldn't sit still, either – a problem that quite surprised him, as he had always flattered himself on his self-restraint. He stood instead; awkwardly pacing the expanse of his rather lavish office, desperately clutching his hair in his hands, as if that alone would anchor him down to reality at this point. He was shivering, the humming reaching down to his very bones, goose-bumps blossoming over the expanse of his pale skin, even as he was clothed in his many layers of expensive, tasteful, wine-red suit. Under the influence of a strange masochistic streak, he had cranked down the temperature in his private room to an arctic, sub-zero number, suddenly feeling like he needed to be properly _cold._ He supposed it was to match the coldness he felt spread through his body like a fluid on the inside, too.

It'd been a couple of days already, since the incident, and nothing but cruel, harsh paperwork had made itself known, somehow spawning and multiplying on his desk without him even trying. He'd always insisted to Wright that he enjoyed his work, and his friend would simply look at him incredulously, with a look that asked the unuttered question: how do you _like_ all of that? He'd simply scoffed off the attorney, of course. But now he could sort of see where the wallet-dry man had been coming from; staring at all of the daunting stacks now, added with the surplus of pressure – he really couldn't bring himself to find entertainment in it, let alone show any appreciation or pleasure for it.

With an animalistic growl – one that he'd adamantly deny ever creating at the base of his of throat, if questioned – escaped him, and he paced faster, wearing holes through the hardwood flooring that he took such great pride in. A thought flitted across his mind; one that hadn't occurred to him in many years: _he didn't know what to do, or what he was doing._ Honestly, he may be a prosecuting prodigy, but he wasn't Sherlock Holmes, for crying out loud! He knew – _he knew_ – that someway, somehow, this murder corresponded in perfect unison with Larry's (oh, the shock that courses down his spine at the mention of it still; the scarlet blood that had bloomed so beautifully, sinfully, across his back-) in that there had been a total, complete lack of any sort of evidence other than the bullet that had been lodged in… his head… and _the picture._ It was made of the same material as Larry's, had come originally from the same photograph; depicting nothing but the good detective himself, and the washed-out background of the courtroom lobby. Again, there had been absolutely no fingerprints whatever, in exclusion to Gumshoe's (oh, horror!). It was a cold case, a dead end, because there were no other leads at all. They'd traced back the bullet to a gun bought a simple shop down the road, unsophisticated and clean. Apparently, the real owner was someone who had been identified as a 'Jenson Baker,' a rather dull and ordinary name, with a just as morose and commonplace record consisting of absolutely nothing at all, and an air-tight alibi that checked out totally with over 30 witnesses. They'd even interviewed the man. He claimed that no, his gun had never been stolen; it'd been in his living room the entire time.

He mashed his face further into the aristocratic softness of his palms, squeezing his eyes shut, away from all of the difficulty and hardships. To be an unsuspecting teenager again, he'd give nearly anything – even under the reign of the stiff Von Karma heritage.

The photograph, of course, was nothing at all; he and Wright already knew where it had come from. It only served to fuel his suspicion of it being a 'calling card' of sorts, with the same uncertainty behind it; who in their right mind would honestly care about the detective? Unless, of course, presumably like Larry, he'd seen something.

But the both of them being caught up in the same petty matters and having their fates equally mangled? Preposterous. Simply foolish.

Gnawing on his lower lip until he felt a copper-metallic taste flood his mouth, the prosecutor winced and kicked at his desk angrily, upsetting the glaring files that sat there. Even days later, he still tensed with the expectation that any moment now, the detective would come bursting loudly through the door, bumbling like an idiot, and exclaim something just as imbecilic – and yet, no matter what snarky comment or insult Miles would throw his way, he'd retain that same kind, gentle, forgiving demeanor and go off on his own way again.

And what was the up-tight man supposed to feel about it? The late detective, as incompetent as he had been, had loyally stuck by his side for _7 years,_ never faltering, even when the prosecutor had been under scrutiny for murder. Never had he met another human being so selfless as to simply shrug it off when Miles cut his pay, yet again, and then buy sweet rolls for all of the coworkers ten minutes later without even so much as a '_thank you_' in return. There was only one other person in the world that could read Miles' emotions with as much ease as Gumshoe could: Wright. And the good detective always tried his best to take care of him, no matter what he needed, as if subconsciously taking on the role of something reminiscent of an older brother.

Pangs vaulted through his innards, shocks emanating outwards from the region of his heart area, causing him to clench his teeth and hiss in pain. _Who knew that emotional pain could become so… physical? _he thought with bitter irony, hating the sensation. He wasn't one for sentient displays of passion, and he knew he never would be, but in this instance he knew that he was fully justified to the small fits that had progressively become more numerous and less between.

Two men were dead now. Both of them… were his _friends._ One had been – more or less – a case partner for so long that he wasn't even sure when it had started, and when it had begun to blend in with his day-to-day lifestyle.

And what about Kay? She still had no idea what had befallen her Gummy and – he felt twinges of guilt settle into his stomach – he had no intent to tell her. Not yet. Perhaps when she got back to America.

With a deep and heavy sigh, he turned on his heel and circled around his desk, before collapsing back into his usually ever-so-comfy-aren't-you-jealous maroon office chair; except, it didn't feel so wonderfully extravagant anymore – not even to his own weary arse. Just like everything else around him, it simply seemed dull; to match the curtains, and the desk, and the hardwood floor (which now had wear-marks on it), the world was merely grey, lifeless, unimpressive.

A muffled groan managed to escape his sealed lips when his cranial domain was brutally slaughtered by a sudden onslaught of aches and throbbing migraines; little demons of thought and stress that floated leisurely through his head, pronouncing it now their own territory. Massaging his temples, Miles briefly wondered if he had any pain medications stashed somewhere in his desk drawers; and then recalled, with a scowl, that he had tidily organized his desk last night in a desperate attempt to restore some order to the chaos that was his life – despite the fact that the state his office had been in had already been deemed impeccable – and knew, for positive, that he owned no Tylenol or Advil or anything of the sort.

In the middle of his attempted relaxation period, an epiphany of sort flashed through the sickening sluggishness of his current thoughts. Glancing down at the confident stacks of paperwork that mocked him from their place on his mahogany desk, he knew he'd probably need a bit of help. Brow furrowed, he rummaged around in his pants pocket and grasped his cell phone; and in a quick flurry of fingers, he had a long-distance number dialed.

"_Sie haben Franziska von Karma erreicht, wie kann ich Ihnen helfen?"***_

The prosecutor exhaled in relief. "Franziska…"

The surprise in her voice was tangible. _"Miles Edgeworth?"_ And, just like he knew it would, it snapped into irritated-mode. _"You foolish fool! What do you think you will achieve by calling me at a time like this?"_

"Franziska," he started patiently. "It's only 7:30 in Germany right now."

"_To be exact, it is 7:32. And I am currently enjoying my meal in the manor. Now,"_ the clang of silverware against a china plate was evident, as was the groan of a chair as the feisty woman on the other line stood from her seat. _"You'd better come up with a good excuse for disturbing me, Miles Edgeworth."_

He chuckled lightly, her easy-to-stoke temper drawing his mind, for the moment, from the case that had so overwhelmed him. "Of course I do. I have an excellent, legitimate reason; you know I'd never call you, otherwise." But he sobered quickly, realizing with awful clarity that he'd have to tell her, anyhow.

"_Well? Get on with it, fool!"_

He was very glad that they hadn't invented telepathic whips or something just as equally dreadful. "Have they contacted you with any news about the two most recent murders?"

"_Of course they haven't. For what purpose? Do you need my help so soon, little brother?"_

"Something like that." He coughed awkwardly, and swallowed down that bothersome little frog. "The victims… are… Larry Butz, and Detective Dick Gumshoe."

Complete and utter silence resounded painfully from the other line, and if it weren't for the faint, static crackle of a long-distance telephone, he'd have thought the woman had hung up on him.

He decided to continue. "Detectives and crime scene hadn't found nearly any evidence, ever. What they _have_ found just leads to more twists and, well, _dead ends_."

"_Such fools. The entire lot of them." _She audibly cleared her throat, rather loudly. _"Well. How… unfortunate, despite how incompetent they both were." _Elongated pause. _"What good would calling me do you?"_

It wasn't spoken, but he identified that question as vague Von-Karma-speak as 'how can I help?' His dark-bag lined stormy eyes brightened somewhat, almost imperceptibly, but there nonetheless. "Would you consider arriving home a week or two early, Franziska?"

* * *

She really wouldn't have minded being in England again right now. She was sure she could have lived her whole life without seeing something like… _that._ Sure, she's seen dead bodies before. She'd even helped processes them.

But not… not _someone she knew._ Even someone as insignificant in her life as Gumshoe.

She'd clung to Mr. Wright, after that, followed him home – just as she clung to him now, days later. She simply watched with a limp, lifeless expression as said ex-attorney glared down at his cell phone in ire, frustrated at its lack of working batteries and reception. He'd tried calling Maya Fey for a while now, hadn't he?

She couldn't even remember, really.

He'd forced her to go back to her apartment after the incident, and she'd complied, though she knew she wouldn't be receiving any respite from sleep. And, as early the next morning as she'd dared, had fled straight back to Mr. Wright's living area. When nothing of any importance happened to the two of them – simply some police questioning upon their whereabouts and the time of day – she'd repeated the routine.

A very noticeable sigh of relief drew her from her strange reverie. She blinked owlishly up at Mr. Wright from her seated position on the couch next to him. He was holding his rather large, not-at-all portable cellular device close to his ear, familiar dial tones emanating from the machine.

"Maya," he breathed, as if unable to believe his incredible luck. From the other line sounded, from Ema's point of view, like a few key lines of garbled gibberish. "Yes, Maya, I'm okay, but…" He frowned deeply, disturbed. "No, no. Please, I'll explain later. Just… come quickly, won't you? You need to be here. Leave Pearl there…" A raised eyebrow. "No. Pearl is most definitely _not allowed to come._ What's happened… I couldn't do that to her. She doesn't deserve to see this. But Maya, please, I need you to be here. You'd understand. Besides," he raised his voice, as if attempting for Maya to hear him over what she herself was saying, "we need to give Edgeworth a visit, anyhow." His tone immediately became exasperated. "Yes, Maya, I promise I'll take you out for burgers… Yes. Yes. Okay? Alright. I'll see you tomorrow."

Hmm. It seemed like Maya would be visiting from Kurain. Though, from personal experience, the science nut knew that the spirit medium would not find it within her to still be hungry for burgers after finding out about… Gumshoe. But she didn't bring that up, and Mr. Wright stayed silent, knowing that she'd gathered enough about the situation from listening in on him. Instead, they simply sat in speechlessness, neither finding enough enthusiasm for small talk.

Maybe she'd go see Lana later on. Her sister would know what to do.

* * *

_**And there it is, folks! Tell me what you think!**_

_**I really do enjoy writing Miles, he's my absolute favorite. Second would have to be the crazy serial killer, just for the fact that he's absolutely bonkers in a horrifically ingenious way, no matter what story you read about him.**_

_*****You've reached Franziska von Karma, how may I help you?  
(sorry if I used improper German; my grasp of the language is terribly rusty and I used Google translate for help.)**_

_**Leave a review (you know you want to)!**_


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